


Some, And Now None Of You

by Tenacious_Minds



Series: Most of You [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drarry, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Sad Ending, brief mentions of past mental illness, dub-con, references and or implication of possible triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 05:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14909216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenacious_Minds/pseuds/Tenacious_Minds
Summary: The day Harry wakes up to an empty bed is the first day of the end of his life.





	Some, And Now None Of You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Night We Met](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/388616) by Lord Huron. 



> This is basically pure angst- read with caution.

 

 

The day Harry wakes up to an empty bed is the first day of the end of his life.

 

Groggy and disoriented and cold, Harry pushes himself up, legs swinging over the edge of the bed, and looks around. Everything looks grey, and his stomach drops into his feet.

Because the room looks exactly the same as it had last night, every displaced sock and jumper, every discarded pair of pants left carelessly on the ground, and trousers slung over chairs. But something is unmistakably different. Something is _wrong._

When he stands, Harry feels like his whole world is starting to unravel. Like somebody has pulled on the loose thread of knitting, and the stitch it running. It takes walking all the way into the bathroom for Harry to really realize what’s different. To process what he thinks he has suspected since the moment he awoke to the wasteland of a bed.

Fifteen years ago, waking up to an empty bed was unthinkable. Ten years ago it was uncommon. Two years ago, it became a regular occurrence. But this emptiness was different. Draco was gone. The bed was cold, and his scent has faded from the room. The shower is dry, and the lemon scented steam is missing. Harry can _sense_ it; the house is empty.

He feels like he’s been left alone with a ghost.

 

_5 weeks ago_

“Draco, please, love, you have to-”

He almost snarls, and Harry takes a step backwards. He isn’t afraid, he couldn’t ever be afraid of Draco, but he is startled.

“I don’t _have_ to do anything, _darling_ ”

Harry can feel his heart tear a little at the pure venom in Draco’s voice. He hasn’t heard it sound like that in years, in decades, even. Not directed at him.

“I don’t understand-”

“Don’t LIE to me Harry! I know when you’re lying to me!”

“Draco!” Harry’s reaching for him, instinctually trying to calm him with finger tips to his hips, his arm, his wrist. His brain screaming, _Fix it! Too mad! Not okay!_

“Don’t even fucking think about it. Don’t you dare FUCKING touch me!”

Harry wraps arms around his waist, shrinking back further into himself, and trying to suppress a wince at the words and the memories he doesn’t want them to bring up. He doesn’t want to guilt Draco into not being mad at him, he just wants to fix it.

“Please, Draco, just tell me what’s wrong!”

“You slept with him!”

Harry doesn’t respond, because Draco is right, he can always tell when Harry is lying to him. He wants to explain himself, but right now, he isn’t sure how.

Draco doesn’t wait long enough to hear whatever Harry can come up with. He whirls around, out of the kitchen, and a few moments later, he hears the door slam.

Harry slides down to the floor, pressed into the counter he’d back up into, and rests his forehead on his knees. He doesn’t move for a long while. Not until well after he hears the soft _snick_ of the front door sliding into place, and a long time after he finally hears the creak of the stairs, the sound of Draco heading up to their bedroom.

 

_10 months ago_

The absence of Draco barely registers in Harry’s mind anymore. He’s gone as often as he is present, but tonight, it grates on the last of Harry’s nerves.

“Where the _fuck_ is he?” He demands, fork scraping along the bottom of his empty bowl. Hermione is looking at him with pity, and he has to physically reign in the impulse to yell at her. It isn’t her fault Draco’s a selfish bastard. He tastes copper.

“I’m sure he just got busy with work and-”

“Fuck him and his work. He said he would be here tonight, he promised!”

Hermione sighs, and Ron shoots him a sharp look over his shoulder. Harry ignores him.

“I know he did Harry. I know he did.”

Squeezing his own arm, and resisting the urge to scrape finger nails down his sleeve, Harry draws in a breath, and tries to let his anger out with the flux of carbon dioxide. Like Luna had taught him years ago, just after the war the war had finished.

“Can we just eat? I don’t think he’s coming.”

Hermione bites her lip, looks like she’s going to object, as if 10 more minutes might be the whole difference. But she says nothing, and a moment later Ron is thunking down the pot of chilli and spooning out portions into their bowls. Harry reaches over, plucking the spoon out of Hermione’s hand, leaning over to feed Rosie himself. Her wide grin and happy exclamation of ‘Uncle Hawwy!’ Puts a smile of his face. It’s just enough to distract him from the simmering rage just below the surface.

~

“You missed some great chili. Ron's special recipe.”

Draco is sitting on their couch, a blanket thrown over his hunched shoulders, cup of tea resting against his knee. He doesn’t look up as Harry enters the room, but he does loose a heavy sigh.

“I know, Hermione fire-called me. I’m sorry.”

Something softens in Harry’s chest a little, but he’s still angry enough that he doesn’t want to let it go. Not yet.

“You promised you were going to come this time.”

A hand flutters to his blond head, but he drops it lamely, loose against flannel clad thighs.

“I got slammed with work last minute.”

“Like hell you did!” The anger sparks a little again, and he’s tempted to blow on it, hoping for it to ignite, but he’s not really sure he has the energy, so instead he flops into the chair across from him, dropping the package onto the table. Draco’s eyes flick to it briefly, but he doesn’t look like he really absorbs it presence, he still doesn’t look at Harry, ggghghtrailing his eyes along the edge of the carpet before resting again on the fire place.

“I’m truly sorry Harry. I-” His eyes squeeze shut, and Harry can see that his fingers are white where they hold the mug tightly. “I really did plan to come this time.”

“You could have at least showed up. Late or no.”

His eyes meet Harry’s for a brief moment, before flicking back to the fire. “By the time I got home I didn’t think there was any point. I wouldn’t have made it before you got back anyways. I’m so so sorry Harry.”

Harry closes his eyes, breathing, and for a while they are silent. Listening to the fire crackle in the hearth, Draco’s breathing is ragged enough that Harry can hear it from across the room. He stands up.

In two strides he has his arms around Draco, pressing his face into his abdomen and running one hand through soft blond curls that fall not-so-neatly around Draco’s face.

His breath hitches, soft sobs shaking his body, arms encircling Harry’s waist, and Harry pulls him closer, one hand tangling in the soft, short hair at the nape of his neck. His heart is breaking a little, and any lingering anger dissipates so quickly Harry’s left wondering if it was there at all. He isn’t sure what has caused this rare display of emotion, but he doesn’t mind. Not a bit.

When Draco’s breathing calms enough that Harry thinks he can answer he pulls back, just enough that he can look down at the mans face, blotchy red and tear stained.

“Have you eaten anything?” He asks softly

Draco doesn’t answer, breaking eye contact and shifting nervously. As if he thinks his answer will anger Harry again, as if he thinks that Harry will chastise him and use it to further berate him for his absence from diner. As if Harry hasn’t known the whole time what the answer would be.

“No.” It’s barely above a whisper.

Harry sighs, lifting the hand off his shoulder to brush bangs out of the way, then letting it trail softly downward to cup his cheek, to use both hands to tilt his head up a bit, forcing Draco to meet Harry’s eyes. “Ya. I know.” A thumb tracing lips, and cheek bones. Draco closes his eyes as Harry trails one gentle finger across thin, almost transparent eyelids, admiring white eyelashes, then across his eyebrow, slightly darker then the skin, just visible at this distance. “I brought you leftovers.”

And Draco’s broken, watery laugh is enough to make Harry smile. He lets his hand fall, running his knuckles across Draco’s jaw softly, before stepping back and reaching down to grasp a boney hand, to help pull him up. They walk to the kitchen, Harry’s hand resting on the small of Draco’s back, gently urging him forward, fingers tracing small, aimless patterns.

When they’re seated, steaming leftover chili on the table in front of Draco, Harry reaches over and brushes his fingers across his forearm, watching the light play on the hair there. Draco shivers, and he looks up as the scrape of metal on porcelain stops.

“Harry.” It’s a statement, said breathless and reverent, almost like a prayer.

Harry can hear the question there. _‘What is it? What are you thinking?’_

“You can’t skip meals Draco. You know you can’t.” He knows he has to say it, but he hates to ruin whatever tentative peace they’ve built tonight. A cease-fire is a delicate thing, and he doesn’t want to upset the balance, but he has too.

Draco seems to know this too. He smiles, but it’s sad. “I won’t. I promise. Not again.”

Harry nods, and watches him, before he stands and leans over the table completely, pressing gentle, searching kisses to Draco’s lips. He tastes bitter and spicy, like his lemon soap, and the beer-tomato-cocoa of Ron’s chili. He presses harder, and the kiss turns rushed, quick and desperate. Feverish.

They don’t make it to the bedroom.

 

_Two years ago_

When they came to take her away, Draco was devastated. They’d been in the process of filing the adoption papers, just waiting on the appropriate signatures, and three social workers had showed up at the door. Two he didn’t recognize, and the third was Kathrine. The woman they’d been dealing with since the very beginning. She was looking at him with pity, guilt, and he felt his heart clench, but let them in, and lead them to the sitting room.

“Darling?” Draco has called, and Harry could hear the vague sounds of plates clicking together as he cleaned the kitchen after their early lunch. They’d been planning on taking Kuma to the park, but her nap time was at one. “Who’s here? Is it Pansy? Because she still owes me 5 galleons!”

Casting a sideways glance at the three woman sitting on his couch, he wonders if maybe he should go into the kitchen himself. But he decides against it. “You’d better just come here, love.”

Footsteps “Harry?” and Draco appears in the door way. “What is it? Who’s- oh” Staring at the three his gazes narrows as he makes his way over to Harry, perching delicately on the arm of the chair.

“Hello. Kathrine, is something wrong?”

She sighs, and turns that pitying look on Draco. “I’m afraid we must have a conversation about Katerina”

“Kat- oh, you mean Kuma?”

“You- changed her name?”

“Not officially, it will be once we get the paper work back. We kept her middle name Katerina. Well, one of them. It’s family tradition, the Blacks, naming children after the stars. Kuma Lily Katerina Malfoy-Potter. It’s long but..”

“I- yes, Mr. Malfoy, of course, but the thing is. Well. Her birth mother, she’s been approved by the courts as a suitable guardian. We’re here to give you a weeks warning. We’ll be by to collect her and her things next Saturday.”

Harry can see about 10 different emotions flit across his face in the seconds that follow. But he doesn’t speak. He only stares at the three of them for what feels like a long time.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter. Truly, but as biological parent she takes precedence in a court room, and unless she is ruled unfit-”

“She was ruled unfit! She left her sitting in her crib for _two_ days Mrs. Thimblesworth.” Harry can hear the emphasis in her last name, and flinches “Two days! How can the courts rule her a fit guardian?”

“Well she’s been in a program, and-”

“She lost her parental rights the moment she prioritized drugs and alcohol over our baby Kuma! She shouldn’t be allowed to ask for them back! She’s ours, our baby! Kathrine please! There has to be something we can do!”

“I’m sorry Mr. Malfoy there isn’t”

Draco is plainly crying now, tears streaming down his face, while Harry is still in shock. At least, he thinks he is. Because he doesn’t feel much of anything besides a need to make Draco stop crying like that, to make his voice stop wobbling like his heart has just been ripped out of his chest and Harry supposes, that it probably has been.

“She called me Dada three days ago you know. Harry’s been ‘Papa’. For weeks now, but she was crying to be picked up, and Harry went to get her, but she reached for me and said ‘no-dada!” He isn’t even looked at the women anymore. He’s staring at his shoes, even as tears drip onto his pants, leaving a wet patch. “She’s such a smart little girl. She’s already speaking coherently, when she wants something. Only 17 months old.” And this is where he turns, sliding into Harry’s lap, head on his shoulder. Shuttering sobs wracking his body. Harry doesn’t look up as the women leave, he only hears the last muttered apology, footsteps on creaky floors and the sound of the door closing. They stay like that until Kuma wakes up, and then Draco is up and in her room in a moment. Harry finds him in the rocking chair,

Kuma tucked under his chin as he stares out the window.

“Draco?” He doesn’t look up, but the rocking stops. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through it.”

“Nothing’s ever going to be okay again.”

 

He spends the rest of the week with Kuma tucked to his chest, or on the floor playing with her. Only lettingher go when Harry gently asks if he can have her for a bit. Demanding that Draco go have a shower or take a bath or go for a walk. Anything to try to get him to do something. But Draco refuses. And he hovers, until Harry sighs and hands her back an hour or two later. And he goes back to the quiet reverence with which he now handles her.

On Saturday, when Kathrine comes to collect her, she cries the instant Draco hands her over. Screaming and thrashing and demanding her ‘Dada’. And when that doesn’t work she switches to Papa, and Harry wants to wrestle her from Kathrine’s arms. He’d already taken a step forward without realizing but Draco’s soft “Harry” stops him.

 

When they tell their friends, everyone is sad, but Draco doesn’t move all night, he only sits in the arm chair by the window, as if watching for the moment she’ll be brought back to them. Hermione frowns and gives her condolences, and tells them she’s been working on Foster Care reform since the day they’d told her about Kuma’s past, and that the reinstatement of unfit blood relatives as guardians was one of the main things she’d been working on to change. But the Wizarding world held blood in such high regard that she’d basically gotten no where. This only made Harry feel worse, and to top it all off, it reminded him of the Dursley’s.

 

 

_2 days ago_

They haven’t spoken, beyond the _‘budge over’ ‘pass the salt’ ‘tea?’_ pleasantries necessitated by living in the same environment, in 60 hours, and Harry is starting to get antsy.

Draco is frosty and aloof, brushing past Harry as if he isn’t there, except, he defiantly knows, because he’s ever so careful to not touch even an inch of Harry. Not when he passes by him in the kitchen, on his way to the kettle, and not in bed; choosing instead to sleep on the very edge of the mattress, so close that one wrong move could send him tumbling off. But he doesn’t fall. He barely even moves at all, just lays on his side and stares at the wall. Harry can tell he’s awake by the rhythm of his breathing, only dropping off sometime in the very early morning, when the sunrise light is already tricking through the gap in the curtains, orange and tainted sickly with Harry’s own bitter exhaustion and the bile he can feel rise in his throat at the thoughts he only has when no one else is awake.

_Does he even love me anymore?_

Harry honestly isn’t sure, but he feels sick with guilt and terror at the prospect that he might not. God does he hope so _._ Because Harry loves him so much, sometimes it feels like his heart is being torn apart from the pressure of it and Merlin does it hurt.

He waits until the water is running and steam is spilling out the bottom on the door, citrusy and hot, before he enters the bathroom. He pulls drawers open and rummages around, looking for the hair product Draco had bought him 8 years ago, but Draco doesn’t comment on the noise from in the shower. Harry thinks he can hear the soft _thud_ of a head hitting tile.

It take exactly 45 minutes for Draco to finish getting ready, and he doesn’t leave the bathroom until he’s fully dressed, walking through the door as he does up one of his cuff links. He doesn’t even look up as he speaks.

“We’re going to act normal tonight. Do you understand? There’s nothing wrong.”

Harry wants to protest. He doesn’t know if he can act normally, but then he thinks that if Draco can, then so can he. And it suddenly occurs to him that this might be one of the only times he’ll get to touch Draco for a long while.

He’s dressed nicely. Robe slung over one shoulder, black trousers, white shirt open at the chest, black vest, but the slim embroidered gold curly cues make Harry want to smile, because as often as Draco wears little besides black and white, he always has embellishments somewhere on his outfit. From beaded trims one gorgeously cut robes to brilliantly coloured ties.

It makes Harry feel underdressed. With his grey trousers and emerald green jumper.

“Of course, Draco. Whatever you want.”

He frowns a little bit, but brushes past Harry with his quiet air of nonchalance, as if nothing gets to him. Harry knows this isn’t true, this is a facade, he’s _seen_ Draco at his most emotional, knows that he often feels so much at once that he doesn’t know what to do with it all. He doesn’t comment on it though, instead getting up to follow Draco out the door. He’s already in the floo when Harry gets into the study, and Harry follows at least 2 minutes behind.

He wonders what the other will think about the separation, but Draco will probably complain dramatically about Harry being late. He closes his eyes, throws a his handful of powder into the hearth and yells his location.

 

_5 years ago_

Everyone is crowded into their sitting room. Ginny’s sitting cross legged on the floor, back pressed up against Neville’s chair, Pansy is perched on the arm on Blaise’s and Harry is leaning next to Draco, who tilts his head back and blows out a plume of cinnamon smoke. Harry watches as it curls lazily in the air above his face, and he lifts a hand, muttering under his breath, and watch as it swirls into a dragon, who blows out smoke, pulling from the form of his own body. Draco laughs beside him, he he feels a hand on his back, fingers slipping under under the edge of his jumper and brushing the strip of skin absently. It tickles and he bats the hand away, before grabbing it and bringing it to his lip, pressing a wet sloppy kiss to the back of it and grinning when Draco wrinkles his nose. But he doesn’t pull away. He squeezes Harry’s hand tightly, smiling up, and Harry can’t resist leaning down to kiss him gently. He starts a moment later when commotion breaks out across the room.

“Blaise!” Pansy is shrieking, turning around in circle, patting at her back rather frantically, andBlaise is grinning so wide that Harry thinks maybe his face might split in two, and Draco is laughing next to him. Hard enough that he’s put his glass down and is holding is stomach. Harry’s not even really sure what happened, he’d been too busy watching Draco.

Ginny, laughing, leans over, tugging on the back of Pansy’s shirt to bring her closer before reaching up the back of it and pulling out a rather large ice cube.

As soon as she is freed from the cold wet trail it must have been leaving down her back she turns around and smacks Blaise upside the head.

“You fucker!” But she’s grinning and laughing, and despite the shock of cold ice down her back, looks as if she thought the whole thing was hilarious.

After a few minutes of laughter and the quiet reemergence of conversations Harry stands up and tries to get everyones attention. It’s 830, they’ve all had plenty of alcohol and food and he doesn’t think he can keep in the news any longer.

“Guys!” A couple people look his way, but the rest are too busy to really pay him much attention.

“Hey! Arseholes! Your gracious host is trying to get your attention!” That’s Ginny then, and Harry laughs, because he doesn’t need her help really, he could have gotten their attention, but she’s always so quick to jump in and help, and he doesn’t mind.

Draco’s turned away from Theo now, and is standing behind him, hands on his hips. Harry likes the way his fingers squeeze, digging in excitedly. He’s practically shaking. Harry puts his hand over one of Draco’s and gives a squeeze.

“So, the two of us have some news.”

Another squeeze and the hand moves too his back, drumming fingers.

“Wha’ one of you up the duff then?” This is Ron, three sheets to the wind, and Hermione looks entirely too exasperated. He thinks maybe they’ll be heading home before long.

Harry isn’t sure how to respond to that. Because for certain neither of them are pregnant but-

Ginny must be sober enough to see the look on his face because she gasps.

“I don’t understand Harry…”

“We’re not pregnant, Gin, that's ridiculous. But… We are going to be getting married, and maybe in the future… adoptions on the table. I- well, I proposed yesterday and-” Draco holds up his hand, the thin silver band matching the golden one on Harry’s.

He hasn’t even finished his sentence before both Hermione and Ginny on on him and Draco, respectively. Clamouring and squeezing and patting so much Harry isn’t even sure who’s saying what.

“Congratulations! Oh Harry, I knew marriage was important to you, you wanted to have a relationship like your parents, and I was worried you’d given it up!”

“When’s the wedding? Have you decided on a season yet?”

“Oh Merlin! Do I get to be a Grooms women? This is so exciting!”

“Oi! Gin, you were already, at our wedding!”

“Of course I am Ron but this is different!”

“Champagne! We need champagne!”

And Harry can’t stop grinning because all of his friends are here, and Draco’s hand is on his back, rubbing small absent circles, even as he is talking with Pansy. As he can’t stop touching him.

And Harry is so happy because they are all here, the love of his life and all his favourite people, celebrating together something that he’s dreamed about for as long as he can remember.

 

_14 months ago_

Draco hardly does anything anymore. He’s always been a creature of habit, but the last couple of months have become nothing but rituals. Up by 830. Breakfast by nine. Work, lunch, work, tea time, work, home by 6, clean, diner, shower, read, bed. “It’s the only way I can stay sane”. And Harry backs off, because his heart hurts either way, seeing Draco in pain, and seeing him so restrained, but at least this way Draco’s happy, even if Harry isn’t really sure its healthy, and even if Harry has to suffer in quiet. Because he loves Draco more then he loves himself.

“Draco?”

“Yes?”

Their sitting down to diner. Normally they’d be at Ron and Hermione’s by now, but Draco’s begged off the last couple of weeks, and he always promise Harry they’ll go next time.

“Are you sure this is okay? What you’re doing?”

He doesn’t look up from his bowl. Only spooning another bite of thick soup into his mouth.

“What are you on about?”

Harry sighs. “This. The rituals, and withdrawing from our friends. It’s not helping. You or me. We need to be talking about it. Working on moving past it.”

His expression is so cold that Harry physically shivers. “I can’t _move past it._ I don’t want to move past it.”

“But Draco-”

“But nothing Harry.” He stands, soup unfinished and and leaves. Harry can hear the creak of the stairs and knows he won’t talk to him tonight. Not even a good night, because the only way he’s been able to avoid his heart hurting as much as Harry’s is is to avoid emotion completely. Harry’s tried that, and he knows it doesn’t work. Draco should know that too, and Harry doesn’t know how to make him see reason.

 

_1 week ago_

“I don’t want to talk about this!”

“We have too! Draco, how many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry? That it meant nothing? You won’t let me explain!”

“You don’t get to explain! There aren’t enough sorries in the universe. Not for this Harry.”

“Draco I was drunk-”

 _“_ And that’s supposed to excuse it? Like somehow your inebriation, which was a choice you made Harry, is somehow not your fault?”

“Of course it’s not an excuse! But Draco, you have to understand, I didn’t mean to do it!”

“So, what? You slipped and your dick ended up in his arsehole?” Harry doesn’t answer, but the blush on his face must be enough for Draco to understand.

“You let him fuck you? So that’s all you are then, huh. The boy who lived, reduced to nothing but a begging whore. That’s certainly a turn of events. A bit ironic too, if you think about it.”

“Draco!”

“What? You’re allowed to go fuck somebody else but I’m not allowed to be mad at you?”

“Draco, you’re allowed to be mad. But that wasn’t anger. It was just plain cruel.” Its barely above a whisper, but Draco does stop talking. Instead he sits back down, staring stonily at his mug on the table, of which he had abandoned. He casts a lazy heating charm, and watches as the steam curls out of the cup once again.

“Draco you know I love you, and I never thought I- I didn’t mean to I promise. But I was so tired and you’ve been so-so distant. I got drunk and I was lonely and-”

“So it’s my fault then? I wasn’t keeping your dick wet enough so you went looking for it somewhere else? Well I’m so _fucking_ sorry I lost my daughter and I wasn’t feeling up it!”

“That’s it! Right there! She was my daughter too Draco! I lost her just as much as you did! But you didn’t fucking care about me! You only cared about yourself. I barely even remember what happened that night you know. I don’t even know what he looks like. Just that one moment I was sitting at the bar and I was completely hammered already and this guy was talking me up, and sure I guess I was enjoying the attention! Flirting even. And the next I was naked, and in his bed, and sore and I apparated out of there in only my trousers Draco! And when I got home you were asleep. You hadn’t even bothered to wait up for me, even though it must have been 2 in the morning and there was no way you didn’t know I was missing! That I should have been home already! You go to bed at 11 Draco. I know you were awake!”

“Are you expecting me to feel sorry for you? Is that it? Well I don’t! We lost our daughter, and I dealt with it the only wayI could, but I’m not the one who whored himself out for a little company, Harry. I didn’t go and break our marriage. That was you. And then you kept it from me! For months! So you can go fuck yourself, and whoever else you want! I don’t care anymore.”

“Draco I just- I didn’t tell you anything because I knew it would hurt you! It didn’t mean anything, it was a huge fucking mistake, and I just thought telling you would be the worst thing I could do.”

“Letting me learn about it from someone else was the worst thing you could do Harry. You were at a bar, a popular one. Did you think nobody would see you leave with him? Did you really think it wouldn’t get back to me? I can’t decide what feels more like a betrayal. The cheating, or the lying” Draco apparates on the spot, and Harry thinks that maybe this is going to be it. But in the middle of the night, the bed dips, and when Harry reaches out a hand, half asleep, a warm body presses closer to him.

They don’t speak in the morning, but Draco acts as if nothing is different. He still won’t touch him, and he still looks furious. But he’s here, and Harry can’t help hoping that that means he does care, and that he doesn’t want to give up quite yet.

 

_Today_

By the time Harry pulls himself away from the bathroom mirror, in which he’s been staring, unseeing, the sun is shinning directly through the bedroom window. He numbly makes his way downstairs, turning into the study and he steps into the floo. Without really even thinking about it, he yells Ron and Hermione’s address and prays to merlin that Ron’s already left for work. He isn’t in the mood to hear about what a bastard Draco his. He just needs somebody to hug him and tell him everything going to be okay.

When he lands in their living room he knows immediately that Ron is defiantly gone, because his jacket that is always slung over the back of his favourite arm chair is missing, and the keys that live in the bowl on the coffee table are gone. He hears a startled oath and the sound a something breaking, but he doesn’t go to check, he just sits down on the couch and curls up, suddenly realizing the reason he’s so cold is because he has neglected to but on a shirt, or trousers. He’s just in a pair off pants, a pair he’s pretty sure are Draco’s. The first sob escapes him then and a second later Hermione is in the door way, Hugo on her hip.

“Harry?” She’s frowning, eyebrows drawn completely together. “What’s wrong? Is Draco okay?”

At his name another sob wracks through his body, and he has to fight to even get the words out. “He’s gone ‘Mione, he left.”

It takes five minutes for her to shoo Hugo to his room to play, put on tea, and get him into a pair of her old joggers and one of Ron’s jumpers. By the time she's wraps a blanket around his shoulders and pushed a mug into his hands he has managed to stop crying so hard, but he still has tears streaming down his cheek, and he’s sniffling.

“Okay Harry, tell me what’s happened.”

“Like I said. He left. In the middle of the night sometime I guess.”

“Why though? Are you sure he didn’t just get up early? He wouldn’t just up and leave Harry I know things have been difficult but-”

“It wasn’t out of the blue Hermione. We’ve been fight for weeks. He threatened to leave last week but,” he has to breath to hold back another sob “He came back, and he acted like nothing was different. I thought he wanted to work everything out.”

“Are you sure though? Did he pack?”

“I didn’t look, but I don’t think so. I’m sure he’s gone Hermione. I could tell, the house. It felt different. He keyed himself of out the wards.”

“Oh. Oh Harry. I’m so sorry.” A couple more tears stream down his cheeks, and he leans into her as she wraps her arms around his neck. He starts crying again, hard, and Hermione pets his hair, shushing him gently, but that’s something Draco always did, when he was upset, and it just makes him cry harder.

“It’s going to be alright Harry. I promise you. We’ll get you through this, it’s going to be okay.”

That’s what he’d wanted. A hug and for someone to tell him everything was going to be alright. But now that she’s done it, he wishes she hadn’t. Because he won’t ever be alright again. He’s had his heart broken too many times and he doesn’t think it can be sewed back together this time.

Part of him wishes that he never started this thing between them that had been so great, and he wondered if he could go back, change things, tell himself it would only lead to heartbreak. But he knew he wouldn't, couldn't give up those memories. If they were the last piece of Draco he would ever have, then he wouldn't give them up for the world.


End file.
